"Oh, I didn't know he had a liking for the kitchen. If someone had told me," I said with a laugh, shaking my head, "I would've sworn that wasn't so Anthony."
Anthony had already left for work. Now, here I was — sleeves rolled up, hands full of plates, helping Mrs. Mary with the dishes. Trying to get comfortable in this temporary space… I must be crazy.
Mrs. Mary laughed softly, her head tilting as she wiped her hands on a towel. "If Anthony weren't working so hard all the time, he'd do all the cooking."
"Huh. So there are still things I don't know about him," I murmured, glancing at her.
She smiled gently and took the rinsed dish from my hand, placing it carefully on the counter. "I'm just glad he's been able to find himself. For so many years, I was afraid he wouldn't."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught. Instead, I turned back to the sink, letting the warm water run over my fingers as I washed the last of the plates.
